Helping Hands
by FreelyBeYourself
Summary: Movie-verse. A missing scene fic of sorts following the events in London, in which Fermat needs help and thankfully has two honorary big brothers to provide it. Fluff/angst/hurt-comfort.


**A/N: Movie-verse with a couple of small, basically negligible changes. I own nothing. This is basically fluffy angsty hurt-comfort, written because, first, who doesn't like fluffy angsty hurt-comfort, and secondly because I think Fermat is actually a really interesting character who isn't really very well developed in the movie. This started as a short one-shot between Fermat and Scott and kind of exploded into a thirty-two page story, but hey, that's alright!**

 **I hope you enjoy this story; feel free to leave a review!**

It was on the way back from the bank that he first felt it: a twinge in his lower back, a deep, deep ache that was somehow neither muscular nor skeletal but seemed to encompass aspects of both. Reaching back absentmindedly, twisting a little in his safety restraint, he tried to rub the soreness out of the spot – only to yelp loudly in pain, clamping his other hand over his mouth to stop the sound before he drew too much attention to himself. This was not his moment to ruin; everyone was reveling in the fact that they were still somehow alive, and Fermat felt he had no right to disturb that reveling. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic in his need to stay inconspicuous, Fermat sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

"Fermat?" Scott called, looking back at him over his shoulder from where he sat at the controls of Thunderbird One. The rocket was currently flying over California, and even as Fermat watched, the coast disappeared behind them and suddenly there was nothing but water for as far as the eye could see. How ironic, Fermat thought, that the endless water which was their safety buffer, the isolation it provided which allowed International Rescue to run undetected, could look so lonely and forbidding. Until this morning, it had always looked like coming home.

"I'm f-f-f-fine, Scott," he replied quietly, perhaps a beat too late, and Scott frowned in disbelief, but let it drop, turning back to the windshield as he flew. Technically the rocket should be flying on autopilot, but Fermat knew that Scott needed the distraction; like everyone else, Scott had reached his breaking point, and flying was the only thing stopping him from losing it right then and there. (And Fermat only knew this because he was much more observant than anyone gave him credit for. He also knew that, in the seat to his left, Lady Penelope was redoing her makeup not because she wanted to look decent, although, he mused, that was probably part of it; but rather, she was trying to keep her hands busy so that they wouldn't shake. And in the seat next to Scott, Parker was only pretending to sleep – Fermat had caught the man peeking out between his eyelashes every few minutes, as if expecting trouble. Yes, Fermat caught onto a lot, and had become quite adept at reading body language – a fact which he had never felt the need to share with anybody. That knowledge of body language was also why he was perfectly aware that nobody wanted to have a conversation with him.)

Looking down at his own shaking hands, Fermat's eyes widened as he realized that the tips of the fingers on his right hand were bloody. He happened to know for a fact that they had not been this way a few moments ago. Carefully reaching back once more to inspect his lumbar region, he winced as he bit back the pain which he had now come to anticipate. When he pulled his hand back around again, more blood than before appeared. It wasn't a lot – not a startling amount by any means – but when had he been hurt? Fermat honestly couldn't remember. Scientifically speaking, he knew that he was coming off an adrenaline high, and that the adrenaline had probably been what had stopped him from feeling this injury until now. Wouldn't it be ironic, he mused, if everyone managed to survive the trauma of the day – freezers, lack of oxygen in a satellite in geosynchronous orbit, fist fights with people twice their size, near-incineration – and he, Fermat, died from an injury he didn't even know that he had?

The thought was disturbing, and he felt himself slowly being overcome by a sense of panic. Surely not; surely he wouldn't die now, not after surviving the island invasion and flying all the way to London and helping to save not only the Tracys, but an entire monorail full of innocent people from death.

Would anyone notice? If he died, would anyone notice that he was gone? Surely his father would; that much he knew. And Alan, too, and Tin Tin; but the other Tracys? Would they know he was gone?

The rational part of his mind reminded him that he probably wasn't truly dying, but he found himself unable to shut out the intrusive and all-encompassing fear.

"Excuse me," he muttered, undoing his restraint and standing, fighting hard to keep a straight face as the pain flared again. He was overcome with the overwhelming urge to check his back, in private, to see what sort of damage had been done. If he was going to die, he needed to know now. He took another deep, steadying breath.

Making his way to Thunderbird One's tiny bathroom, he took a moment to lock the door and stand, bracing his hands against the small sink as he stared at his reflection in the small but immaculate mirror. His face was the same as it had been earlier in the morning, before the Hood had attacked – but, wait, were those age lines? No, he mused; it was just his imagination. Still, he honestly thought that he had aged about ten years in the past ten hours. Ten years. 23. That would still make him younger than Scott, and Scott didn't have age lines. Fermat wished he was like Scott; strong, and in command, and able to fly his ship even though he was slowly coming apart at the seams.

A shooting pain reminded him of what he was in the bathroom for; slowly, almost nervously, he turned his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder as he lifted his shirt, which he noticed (to his horror) was beginning to become spotted with blood. _I really am dying,_ he thought before he could contain himself. The idea brought him terror, and he forced himself to look closely at the wound that he had just exposed.

Immediately he had to fight the urge to retch, looking away from the sight as fast as possible. He was a scientist, not a medical professional and not really desiring ever to be one, and he wasn't a fan of gore. Sucking in a deep breath, Fermat collected himself, once more pulling up his shirt and straining to look at his back in the small mirror.

It wasn't, all things considered, a huge wound; rather, it was actually three different wounds right next to each other. But it was ugly – and it was made even uglier by the fact that there were very obviously pieces of debris sticking out of it. It was seeping blood at a fairly steady rate, but not at a rate which was alarming, and Fermat relaxed, knowing that at the very least he was not going to bleed to death. Muttering a word that he had only used two other times in his life, the 13-year-old tried to find tweezers in the tiny bathroom. Unfortunately, the medicine cabinet had only aspirin, bandages, antiseptic, and things of that nature – and the first aid kit was on the bridge. He didn't want to draw attention to himself by going to collect it, and he didn't particularly want Scott making a fuss about it in front of Lady Penelope, either. He really wanted to quietly solve this problem by himself, without anybody knowing that he'd been hurt. Nobody else, least of all his father, needed another thing to worry about. Although, he had to admit, logically speaking, there was no way he would be able to manipulate the tweezers behind his back at the appropriate angle to remove the shards of… whatever that was… from the wound. If only he'd gone home on Thunderbird Two, instead, with its fully stocked sickbay… but, he realized, he wouldn't have had much more luck there, because John was in need of medical attention which meant that Virgil wouldn't leave his side for a minute.

He turned back to inspect his eyes once again, looking at the exhaustion written there as he vaguely wondered how he would be able to sneak this injury past the Tracys. He wasn't sure he wanted them knowing that he'd been hurt. They'd only blame it on Alan – and Alan was already going to be in enough trouble without another thing to add to the list. And even if they didn't blame Alan, Fermat had hopes of one day being allowed to join International Rescue. Fermat knew from watching Alan that injuries in the Tracy family were treated with endless mocking and jokes; he wasn't sure that he wanted to subject himself to that, especially not if he wanted to continue to earn the respect of Alan's older brothers.

He supposed he'd have to ask his father for help cleaning out the debris, but when he thought about it, he really wasn't sure how he'd be able to hide the blood on his shirt from Gordon or Virgil, the most observant of the Tracy brothers. He wondered if he could claim that he wanted to check Thunderbird One for Scott, and then wait until the Tracys were gone from the silos to go and find his dad. But then, it occurred to him that the silos were a mess, and the Thunderbirds would not be landing there any time soon. He'd have to leave the craft with the others, and there was no way he'd be able to hide the injury if he was walking in front of them. But how could he justify bringing up the rear?

"Scott to Fermat," he suddenly heard, jumping at the noise as it brought him out of his reverie. It was coming from the wall intercom. Sighing, Fermat pressed the button that would allow him to speak to the bridge.

"Y-y-y-Go ahead, Scott," he muttered.

"You okay down there, Ferm? You've been gone for half an hour."

Had he really? No, it wasn't possible; but a glance at his watch told Fermat that he had, indeed, been in the bathroom for that long. Somehow he had let time get away from him.

"Yes, Scott," he sighed. "I'm on my way up now."

"FAB," Scott answered. "Make it quick, kiddo. We're landing in five and I want everyone strapped in."

"FAB." Fermat slowly made his way back up to the bridge, cringing in pain with every step. Now that he knew about the injury, it was impossible to ignore. Fermat paled when he got to the bridge and noticed that he'd left blood on the back of his chair. Had anybody else noticed? But there was no way to tell.

True to his word, Scott landed the rocket exactly five minutes later. Parker had long since stopped feigning sleep, and Penelope, having run out of facial features to fix, was nervously twirling her hair around her finger as she stared straight ahead. The ship landed softly, and Fermat was thankful that Scott had managed to keep his cool. He knew that the older man was upset about everything that had happened, and with good reason. Fermat, too, was upset. The Tracys were like family to him, and he could not recall a time in his life when he had been more terrified than the moments after he had managed to restore control of Thunderbird Five, and nobody was awake to acknowledge the access codes. If he had been even five seconds later…

A hand landed softly on his shoulder, and it was with a jolt of surprise that Fermat realized that he and Scott were alone on the now-quiet rocket. Somehow, Parker and Penelope had already left. He glanced out the window and saw the two retreating slowly back to the villa. He could barely see the bottom of Thunderbird Two as it circled the island, looking for a big enough spot on the beach to land. Tin Tin must have warned Virgil about the state of the silos. Fermat winced; that would not have been a conversation he would have wanted to be a part of. At least Lady Penelope had been there with Fermat when he told Scott to act as a buffer against Scott's anger.

"Fermat, are you okay?" the eldest Tracy brother asked. Quite to both of their surprise, Fermat suddenly found himself blinking back tears. "Ferm, what's wrong?" Scott crouched down beside the young scientist, worry creasing his brow as he gave his undivided attention to the boy.

"You… you… you… Thunderbird F-Five… Alan…" And although Fermat knew that he was making no sense, Scott somehow understood. He sighed, undoing Fermat's restraint and pulling the teen in for a gentle hug.

"I know, Fermat. I know. But… we're all okay, all of us," he said, and Fermat tried not to notice that Scott sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that, too. "You did good today, kiddo," Scott said, surprising Fermat. "You saved us all. If you hadn't gotten control of Thunderbird Five when you did, we'd have burned up."

Fermat shuddered, and Scott hugged him tighter.

A crackling over the ship's speakers broke them apart.

"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Two – go ahead and land, Virgil; you need more space than we do." It was Mr. Tracy's voice.

"FAB, dad," Virgil replied. "Scott, is Thunderbird One secure?"

"Affirmative, Virgil," Scott answered into the radio.

Together, they watched as Thunderbird Two landed in front of them, and it was only a matter of seconds before Thunderbird Three followed. Alan and Mr. Tracy exited the red rocket at the same time as everyone else poured out of the green mammoth.

Fermat caught Scott watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"What's wrong, Fermat?" Scott asked, when he realized that he'd been caught staring. Fermat fought back a sniffle with a well-timed deep breath.

"You guys are lucky," the teen whispered. Scott looked confused, and Fermat sighed. "You all have each other. I-if the H-hood showed me anything, it's that y-you are all so close."

Scott frowned. "Fermat, you know you're family, too, right?" the eldest Tracy son asked, looking dismayed when Fermat seemed stunned. "We may not express it often enough, but we think of you as a brother, too. Any of us would do anything for you. Especially Alan. He may be crazy about joining IR, but you're his best friend, and that matters more."

Fermat couldn't find the energy to smile. Scott frowned.

"Listen. Let's go up to the house… check on the damage. Eat. Shower. We need to talk about what happened – all of us."

Fermat nodded his agreement, and the two finished shutting down the rocket, making their way slowly back to the house. They were barely to the edge of the beach when Fermat, caught off guard by a flare of pain, whimpered.

"Fermat, what's wrong?" Scott asked urgently, knowing from experience that human beings don't make sounds like that unless they are suffering.

And then Scott saw the blood. The older man's eyes widened in surprise.

"Fermat, you're hurt," he said, and Fermat was taken aback at the strength of the concern in Scott's voice. "Let me take a look at it."

"N-n-n…." Fermat shivered, hating the way that he stuttered; hating that he couldn't express himself properly…But at least a little bit cheered by the fact that Scott was so completely focused on him, for once; not on Alan or Gordon or Thunderbird One.

"Ferm… you're shaking," Scott noted, and Fermat was too embarrassed to admit that he was shaking only out of the effort that it took him to hold back his tears. Scott looked torn, and Fermat had spent enough years observing Tracy body language to know what he was debating about: call Fermat's father, or Virgil the team medic; or take care of this alone? In the end, Scott decided on the latter, and Fermat was eternally grateful. He didn't want his father fussing over him right now, and Virgil would certainly smother him with his worry. That was what Virgil did, when he was stressed. "Come here, Fermat… sit. Deep breaths, kiddo. There you go. Keep breathing. That's right."

Only at that moment did Fermat realize that he was hyperventilating. Scott led him over to a rock and gently pushed him down, sitting beside the teen and wrapping an arm around him in the same way he would have done for Alan. Fermat tried not to cringe in embarrassment when a hand came up to feel his forehead; he knew that Scott was only trying to make sure that he was alright, and somehow that warmed him a little, helping him to get a grip on himself.

"Shh, Fermat… you're okay. You're safe," Scott murmured, and Fermat slowly calmed, leaning into his 'older brother' for support.

"The vent," Fermat muttered, when all of a sudden the cause of his injury dawned on him.

"Hm?" Scott asked, confused, his forehead wrinkled as he tried to decipher what the young teen meant. Fermat hesitated, torn between telling Scott what had happened on the island and saving Alan from trouble. Finally he sighed.

"In order to get away from th-th-th… Hood, we had to… Alan…."

Scott frowned, still confused. "Take it slow, kiddo. Tell me one step at a time."

"We ended up in the si-si-si-Thunderbird hangar and we ended up under Thunderbird One and the Hood was there, and we couldn't get out, and Alan sh-sh-sh-lobbed a rock at the controls and the exhaust vent opened and we dropped down and they started Thunderbird One and we were almost b-b-b-ch-ch-incinerated," Fermat explained in one breath.

Scott, vividly able to imagine the scene, stared at Fermat with horror. Fermat frowned when it dawned on him that the injury hadn't happened in the vent; it had happened in the water, when he'd almost drowned.

"I think I hurt my back when we fell in the water. There's pieces of rock in there."

And somehow, this conclusion was enough to put an end to his panic. Now that he knew how he'd been hurt, he realized how silly he was to think he was going to die, and this thought allowed him to grasp hold of the moment and take a deep breath, and although he was still on edge, still on the brink of a massive breakdown, he was able to gain control over himself for the first time since leaving the bank in London. Able to think more clearly, Fermat intentionally relaxed his muscles, allowing his head to drop forwards onto his chest, trying to focus on this newfound, if only temporary, calm. Trying _not_ to think about the water.

For a long, almost tense moment, there was silence. Fermat watched Scott's expression from the corner of his eye; saw the silent battle of his thoughts as he vacillated between concern for Fermat and anger at the Hood. Finally, it seemed, concern won out.

"Fermat," Scott said finally, when he, too, had gotten control of himself and had drawn in a long, deep breath, choosing, for the time being, to ignore both his and Fermat's emotions and focus instead on the physical, tangible, controllable things, "I need to take a look at your back." Fermat appreciated both Scott's intentional tunnel vision and the fact that Scott wasn't making a request. There was no choice for the young scientist to make; Scott was, for that moment, his Commander, and Fermat was his subordinate. Fermat nodded.

Gently, Scott lifted away Fermat's shirt from the injury on his back. Fermat listened, almost detached, to the IR operative's gasp.

"Ferm… I really think you need to see Virgil," Scott said softly. It wasn't a request, but Fermat tried to argue, anyway.

"N-n-.."

"Fermat," Scott said, slightly more firmly, "None of us like being in Virgil's infirmary, but, you're a logical person… Let's look at this logically. If you don't let us help you, you'll have to care for it yourself, and I know you're not going to be able to remove all of that rock debris and bandage this wound. And you know I can't keep this from your dad," here he paused, taking in the beginnings of Fermat's protest, "No, Ferm, you know I can't do that – he's one of my father's best friends, and… please don't take this personally… you're only 13. What if your dad found out that Alan was hurt? How do you think my dad would feel if it was kept from him?"

Fermat had to admit he had a point.

"Anyway," Scott sighed, "Even if your dad _didn't_ make you see Virgil, there's no way you can hide this from him forever, kiddo." Scott grimaced. "Virgil can smell a hangnail from fifty yards, I swear."

At this, Fermat had to laugh.

 _"John to Scott,"_ the older blonde Tracy's voice suddenly came through Scott's wristwatch, and the latter brought his wrist up to eye level so he could talk to his brother.

"Go ahead, Johnny."

 _"Are you with Fermat?"_

"He's here, yeah," Scott confirmed, shooting a glance in Fermat's direction. There was a pause, and Fermat knew that Scott and John were having a silent conversation. He had no doubt that it was about him.

 _"Brains was wondering whether you two'll be back any time soon. Something about wanting Fermat's help installing laser cannons inside the refrigerator…?"_

Fermat choked out another laugh, although, clearly, both John and Scott were confused as to the meaning of this. The Tracys had no such thing as a laser cannon, per se, but perhaps a smaller-scale version of the Thunderizer? Fermat mentally went over possible schematics for such an invention and realized it was at least feasible. Maybe it could include facial recognition technology to zap anyone who wasn't a member of the Tracy household?

"Tell Brains we'll be there shortly," Scott said, shooting another glance in Fermat's direction. "We… were hoping to have a conversation with Virgil first."

There was another brief pause, and Fermat was very much aware that anyone listening in the background would have immediately understood what that meant. He cringed. Scott looked back unapologetically.

 _"Virgil here, Scott,"_ the middle Tracy brother entered the conversation, and Fermat, who had learned the design schematics of the Tracy's communication system by heart, heard the subtle, barely-there _click_ as Virgil's watch connected, and a second one an instant later when John's disconnected. The noise that Fermat suddenly realized he'd heard in the background when John had been talking was rapidly fading, and Fermat knew that Virgil was moving, presumably out of the earshot of everyone else.

 _"What's wrong?"_ He asked. Fermat heard his footsteps echoing loudly now through the watch, and knew that he had entered the silos. If he had anything to say about the mess he found there, he didn't comment – or maybe he'd already seen it.

Scott paused.

 _"Scott?"_

"Virgil," Scott sighed, with another glance in the young scientist's direction, "Fermat's been hurt. It's a long story – one I'd rather save until I see you in person – but I think we need your expertise."

 _"Can you make it to me, or do you need me to come to you?"_ Fermat heard Virgil ask, and the young teen noted the change in the middle Tracy brother's voice – he was switching to what Fermat, Alan, and Tin Tin privately called 'Rescue Mode'. All business, all formal, all joking aside. Fermat frowned as the thought crossed his mind that he'd heard that tone hundreds of times before from Command and Control and on television whenever the Thunderbirds made the news, but never had he thought that he'd be the one needing rescuing.

Fermat became aware of Scott appraising him in a calculating sort of way – perhaps trying to assess the teen's ability to walk the few hundred feet through the jungle to the house. They were still sitting on the beach, after all, in plain view of Thunderbird One. Fermat grunted against the pain in his back as he forced himself to stand. Unfortunately, given that the adrenaline of the days' events had basically worn off and that he'd been sitting with Scott for quite a long time now, his abused muscles seized up and he collapsed back onto the rock with a heavy huff, wincing at the sting of the torn flesh of his back sticking to his t-shirt.

Scott frowned, concerned, reaching out a hand and grabbing Fermat by the upper arm to steady him.

"I think you're going to need to come to us, Virg. You'll find us with no problems – we're still at the beach, right next to Thunderbird One. Don't rush; it's not an emergency, just something I can't handle on my own."

 _"FAB, Scott. I'll be there in ten. I'm just going to stop off at the infirmary and grab a med kit."_

"FAB."

The brothers disconnected their watches, and Fermat sighed heavily as Scott shot him another look.

"Fermat, you're starting to hyperventilate again," Scott pointed out, squeezing Fermat's upper arm – which he was still holding – gently. Fermat, taking note and realizing that Scott was right, focused on breathing. A few moments passed in silence.

"…why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" Scott asked hesitantly. Fermat raised an eyebrow. "Okay, poorly phrased," Scott grinned. "I should have said, 'why don't you tell me what happened to you?'"

Fermat was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to have this conversation with Scott now, so that he would hopefully not have to tell the others again later – and also, he had to admit, because he was morbidly curious about what had happened up on Thunderbird Five, and was hoping that if he divulged information, Scott would reciprocate and tell his own story. On the other hand, Fermat, Alan and Tin Tin hadn't had a chance to sit down and talk things through, and he really didn't want to get his friend in trouble for some of the more reckless decisions that had been made. And Fermat certainly didn't want to admit that his injury was a result of something as controllable as whether or not he knew how to swim. Scott had to remind him to breathe again.

In the end, Fermat took so long in deciding to talk that the issue was rendered moot by Virgil's arrival. Judging by the thin layer of sweat plastering his forehead and the way he was beginning to pant for breath, Fermat was pretty sure he'd run the entire way from the infirmary. He had, at least, taken the time to change from his flight suit into shorts and a t-shirt.

The medic approached the pair slowly, eyes taking in what he could of Fermat's body, looking for the injury, while Fermat resolutely avoided eye contact with both Virgil and Scott, muscles tensing up as he realized that this was usually the stage where Alan would experience merciless teasing. Scott had to squeeze his arm again to get him to breathe normally. Fermat knew that Virgil was taking all of this in, and it didn't exactly make him feel comfortable.

"Long time no see," Scott said brightly, turning to smile at Virgil. The musically-inclined Tracy huffed.

"There's never enough time in the world to prepare myself mentally to see your _gorgeous_ face," Virgil sniped back sarcastically.

"Oh, well, since we're professing our undying love for each other, I might as well tell you that your new song is highly reminiscent of dirty diapers and rotting fruit," Scott said, just as sarcastically, with a now-intimidating smile (sneer would perhaps be a more accurate term) on his face.

"You're bossy," Virgil called, angrily dropping the large duffel bag that housed his med kit in the sand in front of his older brother.

"Your Bird's ugly," Scott said.

"Take it back!" Virgil yelped indignantly, voice ripping through three octaves and ending in a rather girly screech.

Fermat barked a laugh, only realizing when Scott smiled softly and Virgil nodded approvingly that the whole thing had been a show to get him to relax.

"So, Fermat, what's the trouble?" Virgil asked gently, dropping to his knees in the sand in front of the teen. He gently placed a hand on Fermat's forearm, equal parts a show of comfort and to check the boy's pulse. Scott, seeming to sense that Fermat needed the moral support, kept his hand on the teen's upper arm even when Virgil gave Fermat's wrist a final gentle squeeze and pulled his hand away.

"….hurt my back," Fermat said, not really wanting to talk about this with Virgil any more than he had with Scott. His embarrassment wasn't coming from the fact that he was hurt, but rather from how he'd gotten hurt. It didn't escape his notice that Alan and Tin Tin, who both knew how to swim, had escaped that particular incident completely unharmed. He watched as Virgil and Scott made brief eye contact.

"How'd you do that, Ferm?" Virgil asked, digging through his med kit and producing a portable automatic blood pressure monitor and pulse oximeter. These he handed to Scott, who made short work of wrapping the cuff around Fermat's arm and placing the pulse-ox device on his finger. Fermat glanced at the items in confusion; after all, it was just a small back injury. Virgil caught his look. "Just because it's been a hell of a day and I'd rather be safe than sorry," he explained softly. Fermat understood.

The young teenager heaved an exhausted sigh, turning his attention away from Scott's ministrations to look Virgil in the eye.

"Long story," he finally said in answer to Virgil's original question. Virgil raised an eyebrow. Scott cleared his throat.

"From what I understand," the oldest Tracy son cut in, "The Hood had the kids captured in the silos, and in order to escape, they dropped down into Thunderbird One's exhaust ducts. Unfortunately, the Hood had the brilliant idea to fire up Thunderbird One, and the kids barely made it into the ocean in time." Scott hesitated, "It… seems to have him fairly worked up… He keeps hyperventilating." This last part was added quietly, but Fermat cringed.

There was a pause while Virgil let this sink in.

"That true, kiddo?" he finally asked, and Fermat looked him in the eye again briefly before looking down at his shoes.

"Yeah." Then, almost as an afterthought: "I guess I hurt my back on the rocks we landed on." Scott and Virgil exchanged grim looks at the lack of enthusiasm in the young scientist's responses.

"Kiddo, aside from the back injury, are you okay?" Virgil asked, scrutinizing the young teenager carefully.

Fermat nodded once.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just tired," Fermat insisted desperately; it was true, but he was done talking and just wanted to be left alone.

"Alright, Ferm, let me take a look," Virgil said gently, seeming to sense that Fermat had about reached the end of his patience as far as dealing with people. Unlike the Tracy brothers, who (with the exception of Gordon, who preferred to swim alone) liked to laugh and joke as a way to blow off steam after a rough mission, Fermat had always been more private, preferring, whenever something went wrong in his life, to retreat to his room and think about it in peace. However, he understood the need to take care of the injury to his back, so despite his irritation and exhaustion and desire to be alone, he helpfully half-turned while Virgil scooted around the rock to look at his back.

The sharp intake of breath from the family medic wasn't exactly encouraging.

"Ferm, does it hurt?" he asked. The teenager shrugged. Scott looked up at him, seemed to realize he wasn't about to answer, and squeezed his arm comfortingly again.

"He was in enough pain that he was having trouble walking, Virgil," the eldest Tracy brother supplied quietly.

Virgil sighed.

"Kiddo," he said, moving around to sit in front of the teenager so that he could see the boy's face, "I'm hesitant to remove the debris here because some of it looks like it could be embedded in there pretty deep. I'm afraid to start it bleeding again without medical equipment around, and moreover I guarantee this is going to need stitches. If we go back to the infirmary I can give you a local anesthetic and you won't feel anything."

Fermat felt his heart sink. Going to the infirmary meant that everyone on the island would know about his injury. Scott and Virgil, correctly interpreting the visible droop in his shoulders, exchanged looks.

"Ferm, if it makes you feel better, I can go upstairs and tell your dad what's going on, and keep everyone away," Scott offered. Fermat merely nodded.

"Okay, kiddo," Virgil said softly. He turned to Scott. "How was his blood pressure?"

"116/78," Scott replied, unwrapping the cuff from Fermat's arm and removing the pulse ox. Fermat caught Virgil's frown.

"A little on the high side for someone your age, and especially for you, Fermat," he said with a comforting smile, "But honestly not altogether unexpected, given today's events. Your heart rate was pretty high, too…"

Fermat just sighed softly, too tired to speak. _Great,_ he thought, _I'll never get out of the infirmary with weird vital signs._ Scott and Virgil exchanged another look.

"Kiddo, do you think you can walk?" Virgil asked Fermat. Fermat nodded, stood up, winced at the pulling in his back, and faltered, causing both Virgil and Scott to immediately reach out to steady him.

"Damn," Virgil murmured softly. Fermat heard the unspoken continuation of that sentence: _I was hoping not to have to embarrass him further by helping him._ Scott huffed a soft sigh.

"S-sorry," Fermat muttered, and indeed, he felt his face heating up with embarrassment.

"Shh, Fermat, it's okay," Virgil said encouragingly. "It's a combination of the pain from the injury and the adrenaline of today's events. I know; it makes you extremely fatigued." Fermat supposed that he _did_ know; after all, Virgil and Scott both had likely experienced something similar at one time or another.

"Yeah," the teenager agreed, forcing himself to take another few steps back toward the villa. Behind him, Virgil zipped up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. Neither Tracy brother missed the way Fermat's knees buckled just a little bit every few steps.

"Ferm," Scott said softly, "It's a decent walk back to the infirmary, anyway, even without an injury to worry about… Trust me, neither of us would think twice about helping you, if you need it."

"Honestly, Fermat, if you'd rather, we could just as easily go and grab a hover stretcher from Thunderbird Two's sickbay," Virgil suggested, knowing even as he said it that the teenager would hate the idea, but also realizing that the teen was rapidly fading from the exhaustion he was feeling.

Fermat thought about arguing, but realized that it was hopeless. He could only yield to the logic of the situation: walking was making the pain in his back worse, he was so tired that he could fall asleep standing up if he stayed still long enough, he suddenly realized he hadn't eaten since dinner the night before (and not even then, he realized, since Alan had left the table and insisted that Fermat leave with him), and he had two of the most protective Tracy brothers standing over his shoulder. It wasn't like he was going to get far on his own, anyway.

"…yeah," he agreed, sinking heavily and gratefully to the sand.

At any other time, Fermat mused, the identical looks of surprised concern on the Tracy brothers' faces would have been almost comical. However, Fermat didn't like being on the receiving end of that kind of attention, so it didn't strike him as funny.

"…Okay," Scott agreed, surprise heavy in his tone. "Virg, I'll get it."

"FAB," Virgil murmured, and Fermat watched the Thunderbird operative as the older man once again set down his med kit and sat gracefully next to the teenager.

They were silent for a few beats, watching Scott's retreating back as he disappeared into Thunderbird Two. Then Fermat's stomach rumbled loudly, drawing a short laugh from the middle Tracy brother.

"Good grief, Fermat," he teased gently. Fermat shrugged.

"I'm hungry."

"Clearly," Virgil agreed. "When's the last time you ate?"

Fermat opened his mouth to answer, paused as he realized that the team medic wasn't going to like what he had to say, and then vaguely replied,

"Eh, y-yesterday."

" _Excuse_ me?" Virgil asked, and Fermat flinched slightly at the smothering tone in the man's voice; this was why he hadn't wanted Virgil or any of the others to know he was hurt in the first place. However, Virgil's gaze burned a hole in Fermat's head, and the teen knew that he wasn't going to get out of this one.

"Well," Fermat sighed, "I d-didn't have t-time for b-b-food this morning," he justified. Virgil sighed; nobody had really had too much time for breakfast.

"Yeah, Fermat, I know," he agreed. Then his eyes narrowed. "Did you get a chance to finish eating dinner last night? You and Alan left the table before either of you ate a thing."

"Uh… n-n-n…. I was too ash-ash-upset."

Virgil frowned.

"Well… please at least tell me you ate lunch before you came back to the island yesterday," he said. Fermat frowned down at the sand.

"Y-you guys were out on a r-r-rescue and w-we were watching you on TV. That was our n-normal lunch period."

Virgil stared at Fermat. Fermat stared at the ground.

"You at least ate breakfast yesterday, though, right?"

Fermat nodded quickly.

"Fermat…" Virgil scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face and then ran it through his hair. He took a deep breath, to calm himself, Fermat suspected, and then intentionally blew it out over ten seconds. "No wonder you're so fatigued, kiddo," he said, reaching out a hand to gently and affectionately muss up Fermat's hair. "Between you, John, and Alan, I'm going to go gray."

"What's w-wrong with Alan?" Fermat asked worriedly. Virgil shook his head.

"He's pretty shaken up. The Hood broke one of his ribs in the bank, but I'm more worried about his emotional state. It was pretty rough on him to watch us up in 'Five about to burn up in the atmosphere."

"Understandable," Fermat murmured; he, too, had had trouble watching the Tracy family almost die on Thunderbird Five. He made a mental note to check on Alan as soon as he was free from the infirmary. Virgil shot him a sharp look.

"Right now, buddy, I'm more worried about _you_ ," Virgil said gently. Fermat shrugged. He didn't really see a need to fuss. Virgil frowned. "Fermat, you're more than Alan's best friend or Brains' son. You're like another brother to me, kiddo, and I need to make sure you're okay just as much as I worry about Alan and John and Scott and Gordon."

"…Oh," Fermat said, touched. At that moment Scott came back into view, hover stretcher in tow. Fermat grimaced in embarrassment, but when Virgil helped him stand up so that he could climb onto the stretcher, he realized that his legs weren't going to hold his weight anymore and he was grateful that at the very least, Scott would keep everyone else away. He settled heavily onto his left side on the stretcher, unable to lay on his back because of his injury and the embedded rock debris, and Scott and Virgil efficiently strapped him down and maneuvered the stretcher over the somewhat rocky terrain.

Fermat suspected that Scott had taken advantage of his time on Thunderbird Two to inform Mr. Tracy and his father about his injury; his suspicions were proved correct when the trio managed to make it all the way to the infirmary without running into a single soul except Fermat's father, who gently ruffled his hair before allowing Scott to lead him aside, presumably for more information about what had happened to Fermat.

"Alright, kiddo, let's see what we can do," Virgil stated cheerfully once they were safely inside the infirmary, lowering the hover stretcher to the height of the nearest bed so that Fermat could slide himself onto the thin mattress. Virgil absentmindedly attached a blood pressure cuff around Fermat's upper arm and a wireless biomonitor, similar to the old-style EKG pads, to the inside of Fermat's wrist. Not out of necessity, Fermat realized, but rather out of habit. Fermat watched as the monitor above his head lit up, cheerfully displaying such information as his heart rate, respiratory rate, oxygen saturation, and blood pressure. Virgil glanced at the screen, again more out of habit than necessity, and prompted Fermat to roll onto his stomach so he could clean the wound on his back. Now that he was lying comfortably on a real mattress, the teenager realized how unmotivated he was to move.

"While we're here," Virgil said as he gathered supplies, "Are you sure that's the only place you're hurt?"

"Y-yeah," Fermat answered, voice heavy with exhaustion. "I d-don't feel anything else."

"Hmm," Virgil hummed in acknowledgment. Having gathered all of his materials, he pulled up a stool next to the bed. "Okay, kiddo… I'm going to clean this out – might sting a little bit – then I'm going to inject the anesthetic. After that, you won't feel a thing. Sound okay?"

"Yeah, Virgil," Fermat said, turning his head the other way so that he couldn't see what Virgil was doing. He flinched when he felt the sting of the antiseptic wash, and then Virgil warned him that he'd feel the pinch of the needle in a few places, and then in a matter of minutes the pain in his back was blissfully gone. He sighed out loud in relief, prompting a chuckle from the family medic.

"Yeah, this is the fun part, because while I pull the debris out and stitch you back up, you get to just relax and pretend I'm not here," Virgil said, a smile in his voice. Fermat smiled back reflexively, despite the fact that Virgil couldn't see his face. He closed his eyes against the gentle tug-tug-tug of the rock debris coming out of the wound, and before he knew it he'd drifted to sleep, Virgil noting this based on the change in vital signs, the medic smiling fondly.

*TB*TB*TB*TB*TB*TB*TB

 _"It's not me you're angry at, Alan," the Hood said, smiling grimly. And then they were falling, and Fermat thought he might have let out a yell but he wasn't sure if he'd even managed to gather the breath to do it, and then there was intense, incredible heat and if he looked up the exhaust vent behind him he could see flames chasing them down the chute and he knew he would be incinerated; and before that could happen, suddenly he was free-falling once again, crash-landing into the ocean, and oh, God, he didn't even know how to swim – how could he live on an island and not even know how to swim, of all the foolhardy things – and Alan and Tin Tin were kicking to the surface, but nobody noticed that Fermat was slipping farther and farther beneath the waves, drowning, gasping for breath, 'help me, I'm going to die' –_

"Fermat!" a voice shouted, and Fermat cringed violently away from the hand that landed on his shoulder, realizing vaguely that his leg was also being pinned down, his eyes flying open in terror as he sucked in lungful after lungful of air. It took him five long, agonizing seconds to realize that he was safe, in the infirmary, and there was no water to be seen, and the Hood wasn't there either. It all came rushing back, and Fermat blew out his breath in a gust.

"Are you back with me now, kiddo?"

Fermat looked up into the chocolate brown eyes of the middle Tracy brother.

"Yeah," he said, relaxing back onto his left side on the bed. "Sorry, Virgil."

"Don't worry about it," the medic said brightly, but his eyes were pinched with worry and Fermat caught the stressed set to the man's shoulders as he glanced up at the monitor over Fermat's head. "Sorry for holding you down like that, kiddo; I was afraid you'd tear out your IV."

"What? What IV?" Fermat asked, deeply confused. Sure enough, when he looked down at his right hand, there was the IV tubing, taped neatly to his skin. Virgil sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Your father and I decided that since you were asleep, anyway, and you had gone so long without food, that it might be better for me to just go ahead and give you fluids. Figured you'd sleep through it and by the time you woke up it would either be done or almost done, and then you could go upstairs and have a proper meal."

Fermat followed the tubing with his eyes, tracing it up to the half-empty bag hanging next to his bed. The middle Tracy brother followed his gaze.

"Oops," the teenager responded. Virgil barked a laugh.

"Nah, you're fine, kiddo. But if you don't mind, I'd really rather we stayed here and let the drip finish."

"If you say so," Fermat sighed, recognizing that if his father had agreed to it, he really didn't have much of a choice. Virgil smiled.

"I do," he said, and Fermat got the distinct impression that he was being teased. He felt oddly warm at the thought. "How's your back feeling?"

Fermat paused to think about that.

"C-comfortably n-numb," he finally answered. Virgil grinned.

"Yeah, that's probably a good thing," he said. "I got all the debris out and cleaned the area, but you needed twenty stitches and I decided to give you some antibiotics as a precaution." Virgil tapped the IV line to clarify his meaning. "It'll probably hurt a lot later, though."

"No doubt," Fermat agreed, suddenly uncomfortable and rolling onto his other side to rectify that. He thought of the nightmare he'd had just moments before, of how he'd gotten injured in the first place, and he frowned down at the thin sheet covering his body. He remembered the feeling of the water, of struggling to swim and of sinking, and he remembered his desperate flailing attempts to keep his head above the surface. He'd survived, he guessed, partly because Alan had noticed his struggles and pulled him to shore, and partly out of sheer dumb luck. Almost as if he were afraid the room would suddenly fill with water, he took a few deep breaths.

"Fermat?" Virgil asked, concern lacing his tone as he stepped around the bed to get a look at the teenager's face. "Are you alright?"

The teenager felt his eyes brimming with tears as he looked back up into those chocolate brown irises. Virgil stopped short.

"Whoa, kiddo – what's wrong? Are you in pain? Talk to me…"

Fermat dropped his gaze. "N-n-no," he said. Virgil paused.

"What's going on, Fermat?" he asked cautiously.

"Virgil…" Fermat swallowed, took another deep breath, clenched his fist in the bedsheet as an anchor. "I can't swim."

There was a pregnant pause. Fermat watched as Virgil almost visibly changed gears, realizing that Fermat was in no physical distress and that instead he needed to worry about the teen's emotional state. The middle Tracy brother hooked a foot around his rolling stool and brought it closer, sitting down almost gingerly as he surveyed Fermat.

"Okay." Virgil's response was carefully designed; it did not shut Fermat's line of conversation down, but it also did not pretend that Virgil knew what Fermat was talking about. It was a response that encouraged Fermat to continue without jumping to any conclusions.

"I can't s-s-swim," Fermat repeated, "A-and I would have d-d-d-drowned if A-Alan hadn't saved me."

"You mean when the three of you ended up in Thunderbird One's exhaust vent." It wasn't a question.

"Right," Fermat agreed. He looked up into Virgil's eyes, seeing nothing but compassion and patience there. Embarrassed, he looked away again.

"…is that what you were dreaming about just now?" Virgil asked. Fermat nodded once. Virgil blew out a gusty breath – not a sigh, but rather an acknowledgment.

"I d-d-don't know h-how to…. I c-can't…" Fermat grimaced at his inability to articulate in the way he wanted to. He took a deep breath and started over. "V-Virgil, we live on an _island_. How can I n-not know how to s-s-swim?"

Virgil leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, and Fermat knew that he had the man's undivided attention.

"It's so… s-si-si-foolish. I m-mean… Y-you guys were all on Thunderbird F-Five. And Alan survived the bank and took down the H-Hood. My d-dad held off the Hood's people upstairs. E-everyone survived a lot today and I al-almost died because I d-don't even know how to swim. It's not like someone c-came after me, Virgil. I literally almost d-d-drowned because…"

Virgil, sensing that Fermat was not done talking, didn't speak.

"A-Alan had n-no way of kn-kn-knowing. I'm too embarrassed to t-talk about it… You're the fi-fi-first person I've ever told. And even if he had known, h-he didn't have a choice. He h-had to… It was our only e-escape option." Fermat paused and shook his head. "B-but if he hadn't been there, if he hadn't been paying attention, if he h-hadn't specifically stopped to make sure that Tin Tin and I were still there, I w-would have d-drowned."

Fermat glanced up at Virgil again; the chocolate-brown eyes were still resolutely fixed on Fermat's own. Virgil paused long enough to be certain that Fermat had nothing further to add, before clearing his throat softly and leaning back a little bit.

"Well." Virgil ran a hand through his hair, not entirely sure what to say. "First of all, I can't reiterate this enough: for right now, in this moment, the only thing that really and truly matters is that you're safe. You _didn't_ drown." Here he paused. "Can I share a personal story with you?"

Fermat nodded, eyes wide.

"About a year ago, I ran into some trouble on a rescue. It was a routine mission; earthquake, mudslide, you know. Gordon took over 'Two for me while I went down to the ground to rescue some civilians. At the time it made perfect sense: the civilians needed more advanced first aid and life support than Gordon and Scott are trained to provide. The rescue, on the whole, went well. We didn't lose anyone. But Fermat, I was so stupid. I forgot to hook my safety harness to Thunderbird Two's rescue platform. The civilians were all pulled up to safety, and in the meantime I was sucked down into the mud and very nearly suffocated in it. If Gordon had been focusing on flying 'Two or pulling up the civilians or any of the things that by all rights could have taken up the whole of his attention, I'd be dead. And honestly? That's a humbling, humiliating feeling. Knowing that someone close to you had to save your life."

"Yeah," Fermat agreed softly.

"The difference? I nearly died because of my own stupidity. You aren't stupid, Fermat. You can't be faulted for what you don't know."

"I'd say it's p-pretty stupid to l-live on an island and not know how to –"

"Why don't you know how to swim, Fermat?"

The teenager was caught off guard.

"W-what?"

"Why don't you know how to swim?"

"I…" Fermat paused. "I never needed to learn."

"Interestingly enough, Gordon never really learned much biology. Never needed to. Alan never learned much first aid. Never needed to. John didn't care much for music. Never needed to know about it. Scott can't cook to save his life. Do you know why?"

"….H-he doesn't need to?" Fermat guessed.

"Exactly. And yet, first aid and cooking, at the very least, can be considered basic, necessary life skills. Agree, or disagree?"

"I agree…"

"Do you think Alan's stupid because he doesn't know first aid?"

"No!"

"Do you think Scott's stupid because he doesn't know how to cook?"

"Well, I-I mean, of c-course not, b-b-but…"

"So why is it that you think you're stupid for never having needed to know how to swim?"

"I…" Fermat frowned. When it was phrased that way, Fermat found that he didn't really have an argument. "I should s-still know how to swim."

"Yeah, and Scott should know how to boil water, but there you go," Virgil said. Fermat couldn't help it; he laughed. "In all seriousness, Fermat, it's no big deal at all for us to teach you how to swim. Honestly, kiddo, we'd love for you to come spend time with us at the pool. You're always welcome. And I promise, we won't let you drown."

Fermat laughed a little.

"I'm s-still going to have nightmares," he realized. Virgil frowned.

"Yeah, kiddo. You probably are. But I'll tell you what. If you do, come to me. Please. No matter what time of night. Even I need help from my big brothers, sometimes, kiddo, and I'm only too happy to pay it forward."

Scott chose that moment to walk into the infirmary. He was greeted by a teary Fermat and a grinning Virgil.

"Did I miss something?" the eldest Tracy son asked curiously. Fermat and Virgil exchanged a look.

"No," they said together. Scott smiled softly.

"Okay… well, listen, Onaha's got dinner on the table, if you two are interested," he announced.

"Yeah, I'm starved," Virgil agreed. "What do you say, Ferm?"

"Yeah, m-me too," he agreed. Virgil wasted no time in disconnecting Fermat's IV and removing the monitoring equipment, and together the three brothers – two Tracys and one Hackenbacker – made their way out of the infirmary and upstairs to join the rest of the family.


End file.
